


Blood's Requiem

by AshaCrone



Category: Neverwinter Nights
Genre: Canon Compliant, Multi, Shandra and the KC are BFFs, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-15 06:25:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2219175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshaCrone/pseuds/AshaCrone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First her barn, then her house. Shandra has to deal with crazy barbarians, a gorgeous Paladin and the rest of the crazies in Neverwinter while trying to make some sense of her broken life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is a story to answer the question of why Shandra, who had every reason to really dislike the PC, would die to save the PC and friends. It is largely a character piece and an attempt to tell the story through Shandra’s eyes while providing some UST at the same time. Any feedback is appreciated and I hope that I have edited most of the crud out. The story takes place as a series of memories while Shandra talks to the demons and devils of Jerro’s Haven.

Disclaimer: Neverwinter Nights 2 belongs to Obsidian Entertainment and Wizards of the Coast, and I make no money from this work of fanfiction at all.

Pairings: None in this chapter. Some UST

Warnings: Spoilers for chapter two of the game, slight AU regarding the storyline, and Shandra blatantly admiring Casavir.

~*~*~*~*~

_“Only do this if you want to, Shandra.”_

_Those words broke the heavy silence, but they helped to steady her, a little. Shandra’s gaze had been transfixed, and with a shudder she shifted her attention away from the blood stained, worn pedestal before the Jerro Guardian._

_She knew that the Captain wouldn’t ever make her do something she didn’t want to do, and for a moment she was tempted to do just that: run away and back to the relative safety of the Sunken Flagon or to Crossroads Keep. She had already lost one home. No one would find fault with her if she just left; she didn’t owe them anything._

_She could feel Yasha’s eyes on her back, waiting._

_If there was anything she had learned, it was that Yasha Miller had a protective streak wider than the Neverwinter River, and that the woman certainly wouldn’t hold it against her. She would be disappointed, but Yasha would understand. Then she would then go in, and shake the planes themselves looking for another way in, but she wouldn’t hold it against Shandra. Gods knew she wished Yasha would sometimes just go in and ask, or take, what she wanted without being so damn tentative about it._

_Gods knew, she wished that she wasn’t here, standing in an empty, echoing ravine, in front of a massive construct that called for her blood. At least it was just a drop and not the pint that she had been told. Yet she knew she had been lying to herself, because if it helped them, if it helped her, Shandra knew she would do it. Since signing on with this mad company, she knew there was no turning back._

_“All right.” Shandra swallowed nervously, but managed to bare her teeth in a smile. “I know you all will have my back, in case the summons goes wrong.”_

_She drew a dagger, not one of her short swords (which she hadn’t had time to clean properly) and pricked her finger._

_“Damn.”_

_It hurt; it seemed like she could be stabbed in the shoulder and it wouldn’t hurt so much as when she cut herself. Dark red, completely normal human blood welled up and rolled down to drip on to the odd pedestal before her._

_Her muscles tensed and she held her breath. She could sense the others- Casavir, Elanee, Neeshka and Yasha- all doing the same. Hands were on weapons, wary of the inevitable fallout of opening a reclusive wizard’s personal Haven. Shandra’s hands had landed on her swords as she waited for the catastrophe that would surely come._

_It didn’t take more than a heartbeat for all of this to occur, as the winds whistled through the barren canyon walls._

_Shandra blinked; the door had opened._

_All of her companions exhaled in the heavy silence._

_“Well.” Shandra tasted the word, feeling a sense of relief that made her nearly sag. She couldn’t turn to look at her companions yet. She knew that Yasha would be smiling and Casavir would be looking on in approval. She didn’t think she could handle that right then. “That wasn’t so bad…”_

_There was a shift, and the world was pulled out from underneath her, and Shandra was sure she had landed in hell._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

My captors hadn’t been physically cruel yet, especially when I repeatedly told them I had no idea what they were talking about.

Dammit, why do these things always seem to happen to me? I had been assured I would be safe at the Sunken Flagon. The crazy ranger lady had been kind even when I had yelled at her, and Casavir’s reassurances had gone a long way to making me feel secure in this place even after the loss of my home. Then I had walked away, and…

That was about the last thing I remembered. I hadn’t even had time to scream. Those damn githyanki had babbled on and on about _‘kalach-cha_ this’ and ‘ _kalach-cha_ that’ and I started to wonder if this was a lynching party, a trap or a fan club. I think they must have eventually drugged me to stop the screaming, because _damn_ I screamed. If we were near a settlement, I screamed. If we were in the woods, I would try and leave tracks, and maybe scream a little more. We were in Luskan, so I doubt it did me much good. I didn’t know how I knew that Miller and her motley crew would come after me, but I did. I suppose I thought it would just hold true to her pattern- any time bad things happened to me, she would be in the area- and bad things were definitely happening right now. 

It had to have been days, maybe a tenday when I found myself in a cage and looking through a portal at what had to be the oldest looking githyanki woman I had ever seen. Not that I had seen many, but…

Illmater have mercy, because I heard them saying what they were going to do to me.

I hate being scared all the time. I hate being helpless. Yet the gods must have heard me, because the repeated phrase “kalach-cha” seemed to speed up, and I could hear a feminine snarl of anger.

I had never been so happy to see someone run (or rather, walk) headlong into danger. And I had never felt so ashamed of myself, because for a moment I had doubted that my personal nemesis would come. When she offered to trade herself for the rest of us… well, I was shamed again. It was stupid that she do it, because gods knew that they would kill us all anyways, but at least she tried. 

Several strange silver things flew off Miller’s body- they had been in her pack- and she was yanked into the air, arching her back and squawking in pain. My jaw dropped, and I think the githyanki woman did much the same. 

“You have… a piece of the sword inside of you,” she said, voice flat and confused. My mind fizzled, because that was downright… impossible. Not to mention disgusting.

“It is no matter. We will take it, by force!” the woman behind the barrier hissed, and her guards attacked. After that, Miller then proceeded to do what she did best, in a very spectacular manner. 

She threw her head back and howled, rage twisting her face as she took a war mace and proceeded to ignore magical blasts and striking blades, and started to break things.

Damn, that woman was _good_ at breaking things.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Arrival back at the Flagon was anticlimactic at best. There was celebration that I was back safely (and I had to avoid Duncan’s hands) and I did my best to sit on the other side of the common room from Bishop.

I eyed my companions, thinking about who would be my new tutor. I had no ability to spell cast- perhaps once, but no longer- and my talents were all blades. 

Elanee was a druid, and she fought best as a wild thing, not with weapons. Grobnar- obviously no. I doubted Neeshka would have the patience, the same went for Khelgar, and Casavir used heavy armor and war hammers. Both were great for dealing damage and taking it, but, ah- heavy armor _stinks_. While I didn’t object to chain mail, I didn’t want to go _that_ far. That left Miller and Bishop, and I would rather be an orc kissing troll than be around Bishop for more than a few minutes. 

So, Miller it was then. She’s good with two weapons, and if it wasn’t for her little temper problem… Still, she tended to be patient with the people in her strange group. 

I found myself eyeing the gang again, and shook my head. They all seemed so different from each other. I had to wonder how Miller had picked up so many strays. The first time I had met her, her crew had been walking down the path to my farm. Well, “walking” wasn’t really the right term. Khelgar barreled, Elanee strolled, Neeshka glided while Miller seemed to lope. I remembered thinking that she was probably the largest woman I had ever met right off the bat. She was taller than anyone in her party- it was true now even with the addition of two tall human men- at well over six feet, maybe even seven. Yet for all that she was quiet (except when drinking or breaking things or both) and polite, even though I knew she lied to me about why she was there. 

Speaking of which… where was she? I took a swallow of my ale, glancing around the common room (and giving Casavir an appreciative glance at his backside) before realizing she was no longer about. I tensed, nearly sloshing my drink, when Grobnar plopped down in front of me.

He babbled, and I had to smile at him because he was just so amusing, but the lack of the female ranger in the room began to make me increasingly nervous. It had been weeks since she had been out of my sight on the long trip back from Luskan. I had taken comfort in seeing her back, knowing that she led the way. As much as Casavir’s calming aura, the sight of her blotting out daylight with her big frame reassured me that I wasn’t going to be kidnapped again.

I shook my head when I realized that Grobnar had asked me a question. I looked over at him and tried to appear attentive.

“I say, Shandra, are you all right?” the little gnome asked, tilting his head to the side. I shrugged.

“I was about to ask the same question,” another voice interrupted, and I winced. Duncan was a nice man, but old enough to be my father and I just wasn’t interested in him. I was still grateful for his hospitality. “You look like someone killed your cat.”

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” Grobnar corrected. “She looks like someone set her cat’s tail on fire, before cutting it off and then stomping on its head. Or maybe even-“

“We get the idea, Gnome,” Duncan snapped, and I had to shake my head, some of my nerves dissipating at the rather absurd exchange. I glanced around. Neeshka and Khelgar were in a somewhat congenial argument about who had the better ale, Qara was watching the common room when she should have been wiping the tables, Bishop was leering and Casavir was talking quietly to Elanee. 

“Did you see where your niece went?” I asked Duncan, to forestall an argument. 

“Yasha? Oh, she wanted to take a bath. Cleanest ranger, or barbarian, I’ve ever met. You’d think after living in a swamp most of her life she wouldn’t like bathing so much, but considering how many hits she takes, I think hot water helps ease the aches. Better than using many hot water bottles, I suppose. She took a bottle of mead with her.”

“Ah.” I looked around. I gulped the rest of my ale, and grimaced. Nothing was wrong with the ale, but hell. I was just about punch drunk, forgetting the spirits I had already consumed. Bed was calling. 

“I’m going on up to my room, Duncan,” I said with an uneasy smile. He gave the bartender’s _look_ , one that priests usually reserve for liars, and nodded. I shrugged at him, and set my drink down, standing and heading for the stairs. 

The revelry from the common room became more and more muffled as I went up the stair well, until it was little more than a distant annoyance in the background. My room was on the other end of the hall- the same room I had used on the night I was kidnapped. 

Nope, that didn’t bother me, not at all. I was just fine with the fact that I was alone. I was completely alone, no candles or lamps, and _not_ ill at ease despite the welcoming soft bed. 

I shrugged off my filthy clothes, noting that someone had put a large shirt out for me to wear to sleep. I made myself lie down, straining my ears. I told myself it was just curiosity, to listen to what was going in the common room. 

I wasn’t listening for the sound of clinking armor or the brush of steel in its scabbard. I couldn’t sense magic, and- 

I started to doze off, when the idea that someone might be putting a sleeping spell on me made me sit straight up in a cold sweat. A loud thump from down the hall made me jump, and I looked frantically around the room for the maker of the sound. 

Okay… no one was there… I could relax. Only I couldn’t. I could smell smoke from the kitchen stoves and my gut told me that the tavern was burning down. When it was too quiet, I knew someone had used a silence spell to mask his presence… 

I ached all over.

The trip back from Luskan had been unpleasant from lack of beds and a hard pace set by our two rangers. The bed was warm and soft, and I _needed_ sleep. The ale should have relaxed me but all it did was turn off my rational thought, making the paranoia louder. 

Another loud thump echoed down the hall, and I sat up again. My hands shook as I grabbed a pillow. As far as I could figure in my slightly tipsy state, I had two options. Settling on the least likely to make tongues wag, I staggered out and stiltedly made my way down the hall before pounding my fist against the smoothed oak of one of the doors.

“Open up! I know you’re in there!”

I kept smacking, and between one whack and the next, the door was thrown open, and my knock hit Miller’s nose. 

“Ow.”

“Oh, sorry,” I looked at her, and paused, thrown off from my original tear. She was wrapped in a towel, dripping on the floor with her large boar, Edare, behind her. I could see the wooden tub she had used in the corner, taking up much of the floor space in the small bedroom, next to the fire with a bottle of mead on the floor. The scar that the silver thing was under was between her breasts, trailing down over her ribs. I stared at it before looking back up at her face, and tried not to think about what it must have felt like.

“Can I help you with anything?” she asked, distantly polite.

Blond hair was nearly brown from being soaked. Her skin was, like anyone who worked outdoors, weathered and tanned. Somehow she seemed even larger without the armor covering her up- I couldn’t excuse her height on the effect of layers of leather and padding. Sweet Chauntea, she was intimidating even now. 

“Shandra?” her eyebrows went up. “Are you all right?”

“I’m staying in here,” I told her flatly. She blinked.

“If you want to switch rooms-“

“No. I’m staying in here, with you. I told you, I don’t like being left behind. I want you right where I can see you.”

One of her eyebrows lifted, and she shook her head (then rubbed her bonked nose.) “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I snapped, hugging my pillow like I child. I noticed I was doing it and stopped. I wasn’t afraid of her saying no, really. I wasn’t.

She paused, face blank. “All right.” She stepped aside to give me room and picked up a robe. I walked in, noting that the room had gained some personality from its owner, with a weapon’s rack, a wardrobe and some flowers on the mantle. “You take the bed. I’ll go see if Uncle Duncan has a spare cot.”

Something about that didn’t sound quite right to me, but I was too tired to notice. So I collapsed, realizing that the bed was already quite rumpled, and there were bits of armor strewn across it. I didn’t quite care at that moment. All that mattered was that my gods-awful paranoia was mollified, knowing that the only person more annoying than the githyanki was staying with me. 

I was barely awake when the other woman returned. I could hear her growling softy as she wrestled in a camp cot, and finally dropping it in the space that wasn’t taken up by her tub, her boar and her weapons. 

She looked at me. I could feel her looming, before sighing gustily and sitting on the cot.

“What’s wrong?” I muttered, my face half buried from where I had fallen on the bed and not budged. 

“You’re on my pillows.”

I was feeling demanding right then. After all, it was really all her fault that I had no pillows of my own. Instead I burrowed in further. 

Miller sighed again. “Shandra- gimme!”

There was a jerk and I yelped as my head dropped several inches and I propped myself up. Miller was disheveled, still damp, and holding her own pillow like a prize. Any and all intimidation I had felt evaporated.

“Hey, that’s mine!” I snarled, reaching out one arm to grab it, but otherwise unmoving. I think I would have been more imitating if my face wasn’t half buried.

Miller cracked a tired grin. “Not unless you want to share that bed, Shandra. And it is way too small for that.”

“Go to hell.”

“Does it have a big bed?”

“I dunno, you could ask…”

Miller looked about as tired as I felt. Considering that she had been the one taking most of the beating, I shouldn’t have been surprised. “You going to sleep?”

“Once I lay down.”

This was such an enlightening conversation. We sounded like a pair of siblings arguing over… well… who got the bed. 

“Gods,” I groaned, and tried to roll over. I was partially successful, but wound up on top of something hard and uncomfortable. Sleep was delayed while I tried to fish it out. “Yeah… okay… will you start teaching me?” 

“You want me to teach you? What?”

“How to burn down buildings. No, fighting.” A massive yawn cracked my jaw as I pulled out a piece of armor and tried to throw it off the bed. I managed, mostly. “Okay?”

“Right. Qara’s better at buildings anyways.” I was rolled over enough to see her on the cot- her feet hung off the edge. Something in me wanted to be guilty but I was way too relieved and tired to do anything about it. I wasn’t alone, even if the person I was with had a bad habit of being in front of scary things. That was okay; she was scarier than they were. 

Even if she did look like a rumpled bear. 

“’Night, Shandra. I promise I won’t go easy on you in the morning.”

“Right. Uh huh… now let me sleep.”

~*~*~*~*~

She kept her promise, waking me up the next day. It wasn’t exactly early, but it wasn’t noon yet either.

“This isn’t fair,” I whined, following Mill- ah, Yasha, into the common room. She didn’t answer me, but opened up one of her lesser magic bags and started dumping out equipment. I noticed that the others were doing the same, laying out weapons and armor, magic jewelry and potions. I paused, as Yasha waved me over. 

“We’ll buy you new stuff as you need it, but until we know what you’re best at, just pick and chose here.”

“New stuff is too good for me, eh?” I snorted. Figures she’d be a skinflint. Still, there were a few decent pieces. The cold iron short sword we salvaged from my home when we first came to the Flagon was quickly discarded. It was good for simple sell sword work, but gods… with the shit coming after us…

I finally settled on some battered but intact mail and some simple swords. No fancy enchantments, but I would _make_ Yasha buy those for me later. The woman nodded as I chose- and made me eat breakfast- before we went out. 

We quickly gathered an audience. People in uniforms that had to be the City Watch gathered around; so did a gaggle of street urchins. Passersby seemed to like the sight of two women beginning to battle it out. I didn’t see the appeal, probably because it was my body getting bruised. 

Casavir watched us both, giving advice in his even, uninflected tone, while Bishop would just watch. I swear that man made my skin crawl. I would have sooner shared my bed with a snake. 

Thinking about him caused more than enough distraction for Yasha to get through my weak guard. Dulled weapons and half speed meant an ache instead of an instant trip to the temple to be resurrected. 

“Keep your main weapon pointed at your opponent’s eyes,” Casavir called.

 

Without turning to look at him, Yasha shouted back. “Why did the chicken cross the road?”

“Presumably because there was a greater good to be accomplished there.”

I took a buffet to my head for stopping and staring. I didn’t know if that was a joke or not.  
Grobnar and Khelgar shouted encouragement in the background as Yasha showed me form before beating the use of it into me.

“Who the hell taught you?” I muttered- after the third time I was thrown into the dirt- and the question made Yasha pause. “Some kind of demon?”

“My foster father,” she answered, her tone decidedly neutral. She offered me a hand up, which I ignored. I had to wonder where this person _came_ from, and how the hell she could…

I sighed, before sitting back in the dirt. It was some nice, comfy dirt. Chauntea likes dirt, and so do I.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Life fell into a routine after that. Yasha would get up first and I would follow her downstairs (turns out she would help Sal with the dishes) and we would train. She taught me technique, and then would grab others for me to spar against so I could see how best to use those techniques against different fighting styles. I would wind up bruised, bitch about it, and realized that bathing helped me recover my spirits just about as quickly as any healing potion. Needless to say, Yasha’s tub started serving double duty.

Yasha would occasionally go out on patrol, wearing a City Watch cloak and with some of her other lackeys. (Okay, lackey wasn’t really a good term for it, but I didn’t want to be called a friend yet, and… I just called myself a lackey… dammit…) Here I realized that she did just fine if she never opened her mouth. She would have no problem exchanging pleasantries, or helping a child find her parents, or literally chasing down a crook, but… 

She was polite in saying please and thank you. She also had all the subtlety of an ox in an alchemy laboratory. She could hold her tongue- sometimes- but she had trouble talking people around without making them wet themselves. It probably had to do with her size. When a nearly seven foot woman who made her swords look like daggers walks up to you, wearing armor and frowning, sane people run away.

The kids didn’t, but that was because she tended to give them sweets. Sometimes bribery worked wonders.

Life almost started to seem normal. I had started to see, dimly, the shape of the relationships here. A strange family had begun to form around Yasha. She wasn’t the mother; that had to be Elanee. Yasha treated her with a great deal of respect. Considering that she was a tree-worshipper, I suppose that was natural. Khelgar and Neeshka were siblings. That seemed right as well. Once you were part of this carnival, Khelgar would bully anyone who bullied you, even if he wanted to fight with you first. Neeshka was the child everyone watched out for, because you never knew where her fingers would be. She had a good heart, just needed a bit of guidance, in my opinion. Khelgar in particular seemed to feel it was his gods given duty to keep her on the straight and narrow and she rebelled. I wondered how long it would take for them to realize they really liked each other.

Grobnar was the dreamer, the tale-telling sibling that would keep up your spirits with his bizarre tales that would make everything else seem more distant, while Qara was, truly, the red haired step child. She could have had a place, but she held herself aloof, unwilling to play in our games. 

Casavir was a warm presence in the room, despite his unsmiling and stoic demeanor. It was sad- I would have bet that he had a gorgeous smile. He didn’t hold himself aloof as much as enjoy watching the youngsters play amongst themselves of an evening. I didn’t approach him but I did enjoy watching him. 

During those times, when I could forget that there were silver things out there for us to find, and that there was supposed to be some bigger threat out there than the githyanki, I started to be lulled by the warmth and familiarity of it. Yasha would come back from walking patrols and waiting on word of the silver thingies, would swap silly stories with Grobnar (and I noticed she took pains to try to get Casavir to laugh; apparently the chicken joke was one of many… ) while Khelgar and Neeshka would try to come up with more original insults. (I tried my hand at it once. I managed “Knee-biter” and “tail-breath.”) Bishop as always stood in the corner while Elanee would try to add some sense to the conversations, but would often just smile and shake her head.   
Once Duncan made Qara serve us supper. Messy, good times…

Then that little bit of stability was blown to hell.

~*~*~*~*~

I had to sit down after Nevalle had left, his words ringing in my ears.

_Murderer._

I knew Yasha had killed people. I had seen her slaughter the githyanki that had captured me efficiently and she was teaching me to do the same. It was not outside of her ability to go and kill an entire town. Hell, Bishop and Qara might go along with it for target practice.

Then my rational mind raced to catch up. For one thing, the timeline was all wrong. I would have been with her while this happened, and she certainly could not have gone off to kill Ember (Gods! No survivors? None at all?) surrounded by a druid, a paladin and another ranger. Not without our help, and I certainly don’t recall that from amidst the muck and rain on our trip back. 

I rested my head on my hands on the table, listening to the others debate our options. Nevalle had suggested Yasha go to this Knight guy and… and what. Become a Squire; that was it. Then she would have a fighting chance. 

I wanted to scream and rage. I knew the people of Ember. Some were my friends. For someone to kill them, then blame Yasha, mother hen Yasha, it was twice as bad. To accuse someone of killing a town because they wanted to get to _her_ … the gods just wanted to think of creative ways to punish anyone for being around her.

I looked up and saw that she had gone horribly pale, and completely silent. 

Then a newcomer had arrived: Sand. 

His words more or less went in one ear and out the other. His discussion with Yasha was across the room, and I barely noticed when another large form blocked the light from the fires. 

Casavir covered one of my hands with one of his own. 

“Do not fear, I believe our leader will not so easily be convicted. Justice is on her side.”

Me? Afraid? Maybe a little. 

“Justice didn’t help Ember,” I muttered, then winced when Casavir seemed to go gray. He didn’t look at me when I glanced back at him. “I know you mean well, Casavir, but- I knew people there. They just wanted to live their lives.”

“There are many injustices in this world that we cannot rectify,” he said, heavily, but looked back over at our leader, weighing and measuring her. “Yet I have little doubt that, with our help, our leader will find those who did this. Ember will be avenged, even if the lives lost can never be replaced.”

“That’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it? It won’t do them much good now. They’re _dead_.”

“Yes,” he murmured, and I winced. There was something dark and deep there, that I had accidentally prodded. 

His hand was warm, even through his heavy gloves. He had not changed from his practice, still wearing much of his protective gear. Both of us had fallen silent, and a girlish part of me wanted to squeal. Most girls daydreamed about paladins, and I had to admit that attractive (human) male attention was not something unwanted. If it had only been at a slightly better time… 

A even larger body sank down beside me. Yasha didn’t look much better than I felt, in addition to looking like a blond lich. 

“Sweet Mielikki,” she muttered. “I- all those people…” Her shoulders wavered, before exhaling. “And now they want me to become a Squire. I don’t know who I feel most sorry for…”

“The people of Ember are no longer in pain. Your torment is just beginning,” Casavir said flatly, and both Yasha and I stared at him, then at each other.

Casavir had made a joke. A horribly timed, inappropriate, completely deadpan joke… Hadn’t he?

“I suppose not all miracles require gods,” Yasha croaked, before clearing her throat noisily. “What torment?”

“They could eventually make you a Knight.”

“And?” The idea seemed repugnant to me, but a lot of people wanted to become part of the nobility. 

“You will be forced to learn how to dance.”

Yasha’s eyes were about to bug out, and I just behind her. He… he had to be joking. Really. 

I think that Yasha had finally met defeat, even if she had been wanting him to try this, because she stood up slowly and backed away. 

I joined her. The idea of Casavir growing a sense of humor like this, was… ah… unnerving.

~*~*~*~*~*~

_Shandra looked around, heart first stopping then speeding up, blood roaring in her ears as she realized she was no longer with her friends. She couldn’t feel Casavir’s soothing aura, or see Yasha’s back. It had been months since she had been completely alone, despite the years of working her farm by herself._

_She quite preferred having company, maddening as it was._

_Sweat popped out on her skin. She didn’t know where she was, but it was dark and alien, and the paranoia that had nearly lifted ages ago had returned full force._

_“And just when I was tiring of the Jerro blood, a new vein appears,” a voice interrupted her thoughts. Shandra choked, eyes finally finding the binding circle on the floor and the demon woman standing casually inside it. Instinctively she knew that the demon woman couldn’t cross that line… but that didn’t mean much when dealing with someone from the Lower Planes._

_“How- how did I get here?” she asked, hands shaking as she reached for her swords. They were sheathed at her sides, and she looked around wildly, trying to find an exit in case things got ugly._

_She tried to identify the creature before her, but her knowledge was pretty much limited to this plane of existence. She could feel the evil rolling off her, however, and she made Shandra’s stomach curdle._

_The demon woman’s red eyes fluttered in amusement. “My dear, this entire Haven is tied to the Jerro blood,” she answered, her tone bored. “I imagine you got here exactly the same way you entered.”_

_Typical demon double-talk. It didn’t help much, but as she had nothing else to go on, Shandra didn’t have much choice. All she could do was hope that she could find clues for herself. Drawing herself up, Shandra tried to cover up her fear with bravado._

_“My friends, where are they?”_

_“Around, no doubt.” The demon woman was all but purring, and Shandra wished she didn’t suddenly feel like a plump mouse before a cat. “Probably not having as easy a time as you, I expect.”_

_Shandra kept looking around, doing her best to hold on to her wits. She wasn’t weak, she wasn’t afraid of this place, she wasn’t lying to herself, really. She just happened to have been stuck in Baator while stark naked._

_The demon woman drew her attention back. “But let us chat for a moment, you and I. There is much that we should discuss.”_

_Somehow, Shandra doubted that she would like hearing it._

_To be continued._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Neverwinter Nights 2 does not belong to me and I make no money from this work of fanfiction at all.  
> Pairings: None, really, mostly just Shandra admiring Casavir’s behind. Perhaps some UST.  
> Content note: I’m attempting slashy undertones. Hopefully they are undertones and not smacking people.   
> A/N: Again, character piece on Shandra with some AU about the rituals coming up.

I crouched, doing my best to hide behind one of the trees before trying to creep along the edges of Solace Glade. The Knight had left some time ago, but I was trying to make sure there would be no one else around before I made myself known. I knew very well that Yasha was supposed to be out here by herself, especially after I had left in a huff after being told I had to sit this one out. 

Considering my brave words about not wanting to left behind, I had thought this was not a very good start to my future adventuring career and had decided to do something about it. So here I was, half soaked as it rained and probably starting to rust from all the metal I was wearing. 

I knew that she had to have spotted me already. Yasha wasn’t the most dedicated ranger, but she was good enough to know when a green farmer tried to hide while wearing armor out in a flat glade.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, actually looking concerned. Yasha had bad habit of that, and I was curious as to why. We hadn’t known each other for very long, despite our roommate status, and I hadn’t exactly been easy to live with. I still hadn’t given up the bed.

“No, I just didn’t want to leave you alone out here. I told you, I hate to be left behind, and I,” I started grinning ironically. “I wanted to see if the gods would punish you more.”

“I’d welcome the company,” Yasha answered, and gestured to a place next to the fire for me to sit, under the meager shelter of her lean-to. “This was looking to be a cold and boring vigil. My Knight apparently thinks I should be meditating on chivalry.” She was quite wet herself in the drizzle and fog, and Edare was hiding as far under the lean-to as she could fit.

I shuddered. “A death worse than fate, I would think.”

We lapsed into an awkward silence, staring at the fire. I guess both of us were thinking of keeping some kind of respect for this farce, but that made the quiet all the more uncomfortable. She and I looked at each other, Yasha opening her mouth and closing it for several moments before finally finding words. 

“Grayson started babbling about the gods that were prayed to, here.” She looked out over the Solace Glade, into the fog clinging to it. “None of the gods I honor were on the list.” Her tone was wry. “Of course, Mielikki is a goddes with better things to do than worry about chivalry.”

“I had trouble understanding him… of course, it might have been the fact that he was talking out of his ass.”

Yasha kept scanning the glade around us. “What he said wasn’t all bad… just aimed at the wrong thing. I fight for the balance, as all rangers do, but I also fight for the people I care about.” She looked flustered. “I’m not one for eloquence but people who come to me, asking for help… I can’t just leave. I mean, gods, well…” She started pulling up the dead grass in front of her and swearing under her breath. “What the hell do I mean?” 

She looked at me and crossed her eyes.

“You seem willing enough to fling yourself into danger,” I prompted. She didn’t talk much about herself. I had no idea where she was from, and the little bit about her background I knew was the word “foster father.”

“I do it because… I hate to see people cry. I hate to see them sad.” Yasha looked sheepish and shrugged. “When someone calls for help, to save their children or their homes- I want to help them.”

“And the gold, the valor, the bards already singing about you has nothing to do with it?” I answered sarcastically. 

Yasha paused before answering. “I didn’t, really, care about the bards. The gold is nice, but I’m used to looking after myself in the wilds.”

I eyed her. 

She eyed me back. “Is something wrong? You look a little lost.”

I sighed. “I really don’t know anything about you, other than the fact that you seem to be in the vicinity when a lot of people do get hurt, you have a foster father, and freaks like to hover around you like bees on honey. You… you look like one of the barbarians from Icewind Dale, or maybe Uthgardt, but you usually fight like a ranger. I know that you snore and talk in your sleep, usually about cheese and freshwater fish. I know that you are a passable cook and your boar has a pink ribbon tied to its tail. Other than that… nothing important.”

“Edare likes pink,” she informed me in a solemn voice. “ And I do not snore. What would you like to know?”

I suddenly realized I had to sound like a corny village gossip. “Yes you do. Ask Elanee. Your family- who are they? You don’t look much like your Uncle.”

Yasha smiled at me, bemused, and I realized that she had as little idea of what to do with me as I did with her (which might explain why I still had the bed.) She began with Duncan, but went on to include her foster father, what little she knew of her mother, and slowly told me of her fears that Daeghun hated her because of what happened to Shayla. 

“When I found the first shard, in the ruins, Daeghun told me that he couldn’t bear to keep it close, but could not cast it away. I realized then, that he was talking about me as well. I- I wanted to make him proud of me, my whole life.” She laughed, softly and ironically. “That’s why I became a ranger, you know. My mother was at least part Uthgardt, and who my blood father is, I have no idea. I… I tend to have a temper problem. Daeghun took me out to the wilds to help me learn to control it.”

Bits and pieces of this story were starting to come together, and while this shattered mirror wasn’t giving me much yet, I felt… better. I had always been able to tell when someone was sincere or not. Yasha had hesitated, but she had told me the truth.

I knew it. And I felt that much more…

Yasha was on her feet before I was, and I scrambled up and drew my two blades. I hadn’t gotten to use them yet… but Yasha’s eyes were narrowed as she looked into the distance.   
(Dammit, I want a Moonstone Mask. You know how useful darkvision is? Damn.)

“Looks like I was right. The gods just love to mess with you.”

“Oh, look, three of them.” Yasha chuckled, and the three interlopers hesitated. “Shandra, would you mind going on back to the Flagon? We need to make this a fair fight.”

My jaw dropped, incredulously, as did the assassins’. It was all she needed and taking her lead we both lunged in, blades striking at flesh before they could do whatever witchery they had prepared. 

I hesitated after a moment, noting the wild, gleeful joy Yasha took in the fight. Recklessly she dived in, her two blades flashing and glinting with their various enchantments. Then one of them worked his way behind her- and I saw red. Some of Yasha’s battle fever must have spread, because I had blocked and eviscerated the man, leaving my own self open for attack. 

Several things happened then, and they left me feeling more than a little unsettled. It was the first time I had ever killed another human. I had been forced to fight off wolves on my farm, had taken the occasional shot at lizard men who had skulked about… but to kill another human and to see him _bleed_ and feel the shock of impact through my weapons and know that it could have been me…

I swayed, dangerously, before getting my bearings. Just as the realization of what I had done sank in, relief at my survival washed over me, and I wondered if this was how Yasha felt. She didn’t really go looking for death, but I had seen her get into her share of brawls (sometimes even with Khelgar.) It had been fun. Fun, knowing that I had been fighting for my life and that I had survived. I didn’t think I would ever enjoy the killing part, but geeze… 

I started to laugh, a bit, and Yasha flashed me a toothy grin. 

“Are you all right?” she asked, immediately starting to fuss over me when she saw that my knuckles were scraped and I had a bruise on my chin. I had felt neither.

“I’m great. It was actually kind of fun.” Bemusedly, I recalled her chopping down the one who had come after me after I had taken the one coming after her. 

I twitched, and that was when I truly felt unsettled. I had gone in there, without thinking about it. That was probably the stupidest thing I had ever done. I noticed her eying me, and I plastered on another smile. 

“Dawn’s coming. I should be heading back. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with your knight,” I interrupted whatever it was she was going to say, before I noticed something on one of the bodies. “Huh. Odd choice of jewelry for an assassin. Looks like a ring of spikes.”

“Can I have that?” Yasha asked. She inspected it carefully, rolling it in her hands. 

“Maybe thorns?” 

“Or knives,” she pursed her lips, before pocketing it. “Whatever it is, thank you for being here. You helped a great deal.”

God, why did she have to do that? Her simple gratitude made my cheeks heat up. “Why do you always thank people?” I asked thoughtlessly. 

Yasha hesitated, and ducked her head. “My father… he could never really express how he felt about people. I don’t want to be like that. I want to give people the gratitude they deserve, and to let people I care about know it.”

I was spared from trying to reply when Yasha suddenly waved me away, pointing for me to hide behind her small lean-to. 

I did, holding my breath the whole time. Hopefully, when I next spoke to her, she would be Neverwinter’s newest Squire.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The meeting at Castle Never went much as expected. I had felt like a hick just walking through Blacklake, trying not to gawk at everything, and ignoring Sand. We were going to meet Yasha there, after she was finished with her Knight.

I had the sudden mental image of Yasha having to bow and scrape and serve some knight for most of her childhood. Damn woman was polite enough, but the idea of her bowing to anyone made me itch. I just couldn’t see it, especially the thought of actually seeing the top of her head. I just couldn’t… I looked up.

Blinked. Speak of the baatezu…

“What the… What in the nine hells did she just do?” I asked. The unmistakably tall form was opening up a cage, letting several imps fly free. I started running, and Sand was forced to hike up his robes to follow, muttering several ugly things in Elvish. 

We were early- apparently the meeting had not begun yet. 

“What did you just do?” I asked, voice rising. I could hear her muttering, not looking at either me or Sand as she finished unlocking the cages. Sand sounded like he was slowly being strangled. 

“Teach those damn high brow fucking nobles. Country bumpkin! Smells like peat moss! Dammit, peat moss smells better than some of those damn perfumes! Stupid lazy jackasses trying to talk to me about honor and…”

I had seen Yasha in the midst of a berserker rage, but I had never seen her looking like an angry, wet cat before. Seeing the childish glee on her face as she let free the imps… 

“Geeze. What the hell?”

“No one deserves to be caged,” she muttered. “And damn if these monsters don’t deserve it. I could hear them talking about the most pathetic, trivia _things_ and- and-“

She was close to hyperventilating, so I put my hand on her shoulder to calm her down. It worked- I felt like I was calming a horse- but the angry flush on her face faded. “Which monsters are you talking about? The nobles or the imps you just freed?” I could see that her knuckles were raw and that the stone of the walls nearby was discolored.

Yasha went still, and then gave me a crooked smile. “Both. They deserve each other. C’mon. Let’s go. More hell awaits me.” She gestured grandly, and I could feel Sand roll his eyes behind us. 

I didn’t feel so out of place, and had to stop myself from snickering at the sounds of the poor, tormented nobles.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I had to stop myself from squirming in embarrassment as I looked over Pepin Pollo’s shoulder, and flushed.

I didn’t know that woman in the painting. She was beautiful, earthy and real, but at the same time elevated. She was radiant. 

“Are you sure you didn’t paint the wrong woman by accident?” I asked, relieved at being able to move again, and still feeling ambiguous. 

Yasha, on the other hand, was charmed. I had let her talk me into it, well… not really. It had been flattering to have someone call me beautiful, and having that person nearly beg to do my portrait had been a huge boost to my ego. The fact that Yasha had been so understanding and allowed me to sit for it hadn’t hurt her in my eyes at all. 

I had to wonder at her lack of vanity on the matter. Most women, hearing another praised for beauty, standing right next to her would have been jealous. Oh, if it had been me, I wouldn’t have admitted it, but I would have been jealous all the same. Standing around Elanee made me feel plain. I knew I wasn’t unattractive, even if I was a farmer. 

Yasha wasn’t ugly, certainly. She had a rough elegance to her, graceful as a hunting wolf. Her hair was sun lightened on top, and her face was freckled. Her nose hadn’t been broken yet- or if it had, she’d had very good healers- and was straight and long, over full lips. She was, well, handsome. If she had been a foot shorter, she would have been pretty, but everything on her was to scale. 

And here she was, offering to buy my painting, apparently so charmed about someone wanting to paint me that she would pay over two hundred gold over the asking price. 

I had to wonder what Casavir would think of it. 

Then I had to wonder what Duncan would think about it.

“Listen, Yasha?” I asked, after she and Pollo shook hands and exchanged money and we headed back to the Docks. “Don’t let Duncan know about this, okay? I don’t want this hung up in the common room.”

“If you say so. But promise me, once you find a new home, that you’ll hang it there?” She giggled, and her voice took on a note of bard-like drama. “Your grandkids will want to see how you looked when you traveled with the Great Yasha Miller, Squire of Neverwinter, terror of the Docks and-“

“Woman who talks far too much,” Sand interrupted. “If you two are done with your girl talk, we need to go about getting our beloved Squire here, who does not want to permanently add “Butcher of Ember” to her lengthy list of epithets, acquitted of murder. Might we get about our business of gathering evidence? Any objections? Good, I had thought not.”

Yasha and I both just shrugged at each other, but the idea of my grandkids seeing that portrait made me smile. I liked it. I liked the idea of an after this, where life returned to normal and that I could have my own farm again. 

_After_. It had never occurred to me to think such a thing might be possible. Would I even go back to the farm? Considering this giant, crazy adventure that I was on, I didn’t know. In some bard’s daydream I probably could. I could win a title, wealth, go back to Highcliff a respected citizen instead of crazy stubborn Shandra, the one lone hanger on during the lizardmen’s attack. I could find a good man, marry, settle down and raise young ones to pass on the Jerro name. 

It was a nice daydream to lose myself in as we went back to the Docks. Imagining my future husband was a daydream I hadn’t had since I was a girl when I realized that handsome princes didn’t randomly appear in hay bales. (In my particular daydream, the man looked suspiciously like Casavir. What can I say? I liked the tall, brooding type.) My house and barn were magically rebuilt, and everything was the way it should be. Except that I knew in my daydream that Yasha had kicked Neverwinter into regular patrols, the githyanki wet their pants at the sight of me, great swordsman that I am, and Aunt Yasha brought my kids treats like see did for that urchin Wolf. (Wolf had never seemed very impressed with those, but then, that boy had eyes older than mine. Still, he looked relieved when Yasha was around. I would have to get that story from her someday.) 

Huh. How’d she get into my daydream? 

I snorted, and sighed, chalking it up to my pragmatic nature and the fact that daydreams did no chores. Daylight was a-wasting. We had to get to Port Llast, and a few other random errands, before the trial. The dreams of later, and a future that might never happen, would have to be put on hold.

Again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Alaine ran to me, sobbing, ignoring the rest of the ragtag crowd around and stood shivering in my arms, sniffling and sobbing.

“Shhh,” I whispered. It was at times like this, that I remembered how much younger than me she was. She was a _good_ girl, had always been kind to me… “It’s all right. We’re going to get to the bottom of this.”

“Oh, Shandra, it was _horrible_ ,” she choked, voice thick and harsh from weeping. “Ember- my family, everyone-“ she cut off abruptly when she looked up and saw the rest of my party. Saw Yasha, looking at us both, with one hand out, reaching for us to try to comfort.

“ _You! Murderer!_ ” I had never heard such naked loathing from my friend before, and Yasha looked like she had been slapped. 

“No, Alaine, you’re mistaken,” I tried to say, but she jerked back from me like I had stabbed her. Her head shook in denial, her fists clenching and looking back at the guards for assurance.

“Alaine,” Yasha snapped when the other woman was about to go into hysterics again. My friend cringed and I glared, and Yasha tried to soften her voice. Her hands were fluttering in the air, weapons sheathed, and doing her best to seem harmless. It didn’t really work, but I had to give her points for effort. “Can you just tell me what it was you saw?”

I frowned, but if she was the only witness, it couldn’t have been avoided, even if I didn’t want her to have to go through the horror of remembering all of it…

“I saw you,” she said, chin and lips trembling as she tried to stand her ground against the shadow of the monster that had slain her people. I wished the real one was there. Alaine was about to break down again. “You killed them all. You laughed when you did it. How could you? We had no weapons, no militia!”

“How do you know it was me?” Yasha’s face was red, before Sand leapt in to start poking holes in Alaine’s story. I snapped back, but… 

“My dear girl, if we don’t use her, our enemies certainly will,” he pointed out, and I fumed. It wasn’t right, after all she had been through…

“I say we use her,” Yasha said, her voice flat. I swung around to look at her, appalled.

“Fine. _Fine_. Go ahead, and walk on all the normal people you are _supposed_ to be protecting. _Hero_. I guess the changed the meaning of coward,” I spat, shoving Yasha with all my strength, stomping out and slamming the door of the guard station behind me. I couldn’t bring myself to talk to her the rest of the day.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Anger seethed through me as I watched Yasha’s back. I wished I could simply glare holes into her. That she would _use_ my friend like that- that she could use anyone like that- I wanted to knock a few of her teeth out!

Except that she would have had me on the ground within three minutes. Not only that, if she got mad enough, she probably would have my teeth knocked down my throat. 

But I had started to think she was a good person. A person who cared, who honestly tried to help! Damn her, damn her and-

-and-

She wasn’t looking at me, like she couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t bring herself to look at anyone, really, and was moving purely by instinct through the crowd in front of us. 

And her hands were shaking. 

Not just her hands; her shoulders and chin were getting in on that act as well. No one in our crazy band was given to tears, and Yasha was hardly the type to weep. I ruled that out fairly quickly…

Her voice quivered, when we stopped at a few of the merchants’ stalls, hawking their wares, and it took me a moment to realize what it was. It was so out of place that I wouldn’t have thought it possible. Yasha, barbarian ranger, was _afraid_.

The realization held me in place for a moment before Grobnar helpfully stumbled into my backside, jolting me forward. I nearly fell, not able to catch myself in time to prevent tripping into Yasha and sending us both stumbling into a young herbalist’s stall.

It so turned out that the young herbalist, Nia, was worried about the people of Ember. No one had performed any kind of burial rites for them, and they had been left out for the wild beasts and elements. She feared that they would eventually fester into undead, left in such a fashion. The words left a catch my throat, even as Yasha offered to perform this task for her.

Sand rolled his eyes as our leader helped me up. I almost refused her hand out of spite, but took it anyways. 

It was a strange little epiphany, to realize that someone who had seemed so tough had a chink in her armor. She was relying on Sand, here, because of her lack of knowledge of the court. She was a commoner, like me. I knew little of her home still, despite talking of her family, but I knew she had no nobility in her background, recent embellishments aside. This was a situation that she knew nothing about. I knew she and Khelgar got along so well was because they tended to handle things with their fists. (Yasha usually managed to intimidate her way out of things, so she was a _little_ less violent, but she couldn’t negotiate anything to save her life.) Here she was an outsider, automatically at a disadvantage without connections at court and was truly afraid of being convicted. 

Was she afraid for her own sake? I mulled that over, as we went about Ember, dealing with the usual distractions. (Merchants, town watch trying to kill us, liars in taverns, you know the drill…)

Then we left for Ember.

I hadn’t been here since I had been kidnapped all those months ago. Then, the town had nearly been abandoned when word of raiders had come through; I had shouted for help and received none. I had been angry then, because I had been so deathly frightened. They were people I counted on as friends, some I considered almost kin. Alaine, certainly, but what could I have expected? Ember had no militia. They were a small border town dependent on trade. They had no one to call to for aid, and I was still an outsider. 

It had hurt. Still did, but I understood it. They didn’t deserve being wiped out just to frame one woman.

I didn’t know what to expect when we approached the town borders. Even after all this time, the underlying stink of smoke and burned bodies had not completely faded. The buildings were charred husks and bodies still lay where they fell on the churned up ground. There hadn’t been much rain, and the ground was still bare from horses and fire and I could just imagine the screams. I wanted to remember these people as they were. I wanted to imagine them going about their daily lives, remembering the sounds of chatter and commerce, so much like Port Llast behind us. 

The bodies were bloated and black from being left above ground. Insects crawled over most. I could see where most had died where they stood. Some were beheaded, gathered together, and I could imagine that they were kneeling when their lives were taken. The idea of them begging, _pleading_ , with someone who wore Yasha’s face when she had been out there rescuing _me_ ¬-

Survivor’s guilt more than anything made me rush off to the bushes, ignoring the calls of my companions as I fell to my knees and wretched violently, bringing up my meager breakfast. I was no stranger to death, losing both my parents, but such horrible, _meaningless_ slaughter made me wanted to wail and curse the gods and tear my hair out and…

I didn’t, of course. Too damn practical, and dwelling on the past got no chores done. I didn’t weep, didn’t shriek the way I wanted. Two figures were hovering over me, and a boar pressed against my side. 

For a large hog, Edare didn’t smell. She was probably one of the cleanest animals I had ever met, and the little pink bow on the end of her tail (ragged and worn, but clean as the rest of her) made me giggle. It was a hysterical giggle, but it blew off some steam. 

Grobnar offered me a water bottle while Yasha helped pull me up again. I would have to return the favor someday; I was getting tired of playing damsel in distress. By all rights, it should have been Casavir doing the rescuing; he was a paladin, after all. Not that I really needed one. Never had; I just wanted him around to look at. (I giggled hysterically again at that thought. But really, having a handsome man like that would inspire any girl to feats of heroism.)

I took a swill of water and spat it out, getting the wretched taste of bile out of my mouth. 

“Shandra? Are you all right?” Yasha asked, a little warily. I suppose she had caught on to the fact that I wanted to knock her teeth out. Hell, I could angry with her. I was human, after all. I had a right. 

And she had a right to be human as well, and make mistakes. I needed to remind her of that, eventually.

“Yeah, sorry.” I didn’t need to be, but it felt better to apologize for my lack of control.

“Don’t worry about it. You could stay out on the outskirts. Sand and I can go through and look for evidence while I sanctify the bodies.”

Gods, why did I wind up with her? She was offering me a way out when I wanted to redeem myself in her eyes. Fuck if I would sit it out. I had to do this. They were my friends, not hers. 

“I’m coming. There is no way I am going to be left behind!” I snapped, crossing my arms. Yasha looked at me like I had grown a second head, but nodded anyways. Sand sighed.

“Could you two stop acting like you’re married before you’ve had the ceremony?” he said, in his usual sarcastic monotone. “There is work for us to be doing. I understand this is difficult for you, Shandra, but you will be a hindrance if you continue. So, do think about it a moment.”

“Give her time, Sand. This is not an easy sight for anyone.” Of course Casavir would chime in _now_.

I was about to growl, when Yasha patted me on the shoulder. “Don’t push yourself. Please?”

I shook my head. The foolish daydreams about the future seemed so far away now, when I knew that the dream had been based on a past that no longer existed. How could I think about my future when the people here had none? 

I didn’t say on the outskirts, but I made sure not to pay much attention to the village itself after that. It wasn’t that difficult, all I had to do was try to remember the good times. Being stuck with Alaine when the roads were washed out, the quartermaster, the few others I had known and befriended. I imagined the artisans carving the famous duskwood bows, and seeing their wares sent off to market. 

The quartermaster’s place was around here, somewhere. His logbook held all sorts of information. Little about the town’s trade didn’t make it into his meticulous records. I had teased him once on being obsessed, but that was just part of his character and his profession. 

I took a deep breath; clues. We were looking for clues. I didn’t want to look at the bodies, but that was something…

I took off, stepping in the direction of the quartermaster’s station. No one had yet noticed that I was wandering off, too intent on sprinkling the wyrmsage on the corpses. I knew it was a necessary task, and I was glad Yasha had taken it on, but my stomach was still too weak. 

The mere thought of them being killed like hogs before winter curing…

I clenched my teeth to hold my instinctive gag the thought brought. I also pushed back any other hunting metaphors or memories that might have occurred to me as I searched for a book in the dim light. I could hear voices in the background as I went on; had they found someone? No one came for me, and I didn’t want to look up from my search just yet. 

I wandered through the small marketplace, to where most of the shipments came in, and there, on the ground, I finally found it. It was wet, some of the pages stuck together, but the heavy cover had protected its contents. I lifted it carefully, flipping through the pages, noting that the edges were stained with smoke. Yet again, the words were clearly visible, and I flipped to the last few entries. 

Nothing. For weeks, there had been nothing from Luskan itself. There was something odd about that, and I hoped that Sand would be able to make some use of it. I nearly turned to run through the village, looking for my companions. 

Then I stopped, nearly tripping over yet another corpse. 

Retreating, I shuddered, and headed to the well. We would probably need water as we left and they had to pass by this place on our way out. Here was a good place to wait for the others.

It didn’t take them long. Simply sprinkling wyrmsage on corpses was a pretty lousy funeral, but I was more than pragmatic enough to know we didn’t have the resources to bury them all properly. Very few within Neverwinter territory would feel enough pity for those of Luskan to come and help once they were already dead. The bile in my throat at the unfairness of it all rose again, and I didn’t notice anyone behind me until Yasha swung herself down the rope and _into_ the well. 

“What in the nine hells is she _doing_?” I heard Sand mutter, and I looked at both him, Grobnar and Casavir incredulously. 

“She could just be incredibly thirsty,” Grobnar added. I knew he was trying to be helpful, but clueless speculation wasn’t helping. “If she didn’t think the bucket had enough water, sometimes it is a good idea just to go straight to the source, you know.”

We all looked at him in silence and then back down into the well. Soft voices echoed, and while it could have been a trick of sound, I could have sworn I heard two. Wait- I did hear two. One was the obvious. The other was young, a child, another survivor? I held my breath. 

Several moments later, Yasha re-emerged, soaked from her waist down, with a boy child clinging monkey-like to her back. 

I had heard of this boy. He was an orphan taken in by Ember years ago, and he had always been called strange. He was taking to Yasha, saying that he would come when she needed him to testify, and he thanked her.

He thanked her, and gave her the knife he said had spared his life. The remaining anger I had felt towards her fell away, and I nearly laughed when she abruptly sneezed.

“You need to dry off,” I told her, and she shook her head. 

“There’s still more evidence that needs to be found.”

 

I picked up the logbook. “Well, we won’t have to look for much more.” I handed it over to Sand for his inspection. He came up with much the same hypothesis as I: that it was highly suspicious of Luskan not to have been sending in shipments for the weeks prior to the attack. Sand then added that they had found a body that had been marked by poison.

“While I know that Neeshka wouldn’t have a problem with it, most of this group is just far too honorable to use it. And this particular poison is very common to some of the less savory assassin guilds.”

The idea of there being savory ones made my head hurt. 

Yasha sneezed again, and I decided it was my turn to be a mother hen.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The rest of the trip gathering evidence was a whirlwind, in Duskwood, finding the transformation powder, the decision to leave the glow stone with the goblins…

“Why did you do that, anyways?” By now I should have realized Yasha didn’t always hold to the same idea of ‘monster’ as the rest of us, but considering that she was a ranger… Surely she should have felt at least some sympathy for the dryad back there. She even befriended that gross, bloated… I don’t get scared easily. There were few creatures out there that gave me the wiggins. Yet giant spiders… they made my hair stand on end. Normal spiders I could handle but giant ones… ugh. Just ugh.

“Do what?” she said, looking at me and completely clueless. Considering that I tended to question her every action (oh, like breaking into the Collector’s mansion, I had yelled quite a lot) she didn’t always know what I would find objectionable. 

“Leave the glow stone with goblins. The dryad could have used it, I’m sure.”

“She was guilty of the murder of a village, even if it was by proxy. She could have found another way to protect the woods.” Yasha’s face was implacable. Casavir hadn’t commented, and I felt that there was some justice in her killing of the dryad. Still, she _was_ a ranger.

“But aren’t the goblins evil?” 

“I don’t think that things like good, and evil, are really fixed,” she said, turning thoughtful. “There are plenty of creatures that are considered evil, but when you judge by individual case, there are always exceptions. If those goblins wanted to live peacefully, who was I to say no to that? It wasn’t like they had ever harmed the people of Ember. We met that silly kobold, Deekin, in Neverwinter who is an actual honest to gods merchant. Those examples might be solitary exceptions, but they show others of their kind that there _is_ another way.”

“I heard that the end result of your fight with the lizard folk was a treaty,” I said, tentatively. “Even after all they had done.”

“They were lost and confused. If good people destroy creatures that just want to survive, and want to survive while not hurting others… that’s not good. That’s discouraging any good from coming out of those people. Good won’t ever win if they do it entirely by hitting things.” She looked down at her own weapons and shrugged, and I laughed.

“That is an interesting view.” Casavir had approached us, walking together as we approached the Gates. One of his eyebrows lifted in curiosity. “Do you think that the orcs of Old Owl Well might have someday lived cooperatively with people there?”

Yasha nibbled on her bottom lip. “I dunno. The orcs there never had any interest in living peacefully. These goblins did. You can’t force neutrality or peace out of people. They have to find it themselves.”

I blew some hair out of my eyes. “So, is that why you keep people like Qara and Bishop around?” I noticed Casavir’s attempt to keep his interest from showing. The other ranger and the paladin just rubbed each other wrong, probably because they were mirrors of each other. I had never met two people more opposite in my life. 

“I didn’t really invite either of them,” Yasha shrugged again, hefting her weapons as we approached the city gates. “But… I don’t know. Bishop is… well.” She tilted her head to the side, before fixing her eyes back on the ground. “I don’t like him, if that’s what you mean. I don’t know if I could ever redeem him, either. You can’t change another person’s nature. You can only change yourself. You can decide to be bitter about your life, or not. You can…” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I won’t turn down his help, since he’s offered it.” She looked horribly annoyed, and I was reminded of her expression when she let loose a small plague of imps on Blacklake. “He’s like a dog. You feed him once out of pity, and he’ll follow you around until you feed him again. If you keep doing that, he wants to eat from your own plate, and then finally eat you.”

“That’s descriptive,” I muttered. I had seen how Bishop had looked at Yasha, and I had to admit I didn’t like it. 

“I don’t like it.” Casavir stopped, echoing my thoughts in the middle of the road, and looked at both of us. “I do not like how he speaks to either of you. He is disrespectful of your skills, my lady, and he has treated Shandra like she is little more than a slattern.”

Both of us looked at him, and I noted that he sounded personally offended.

“I didn’t know you cared,” Yasha murmured, her tone slightly, just slightly, teasing. I nearly joined her, before I noticed how deeply Casavir seemed offended. Like his liege had just been insulted by a traitor. I guess it was the paladin thing. “You don’t have to worry about me, Casavir. But thank you for worrying about Shandra.”

That was the oddest turn of phrase I had ever heard from anyone. I was quickly distracted from any possible offense when Yasha went on.

“Its telling that he was the first man to ever call me pretty.” She seemed more than a little exasperated. “He’s good at aiming for your weak spots.”

“And why would that be a weak spot?” I had forgotten that Grobnar and Sand were still part of our party. “For a human, you’re quite handsome. I’m sure your more than any woman could want. A man like you-“

I choked, so did Casavir, while Sand swatted at Grobnar’s head. Yasha looked mortified, fighting to keep from either going berserk or maybe laughing, or perhaps even bursting into tears. She pulled her hat low on her face. 

Sweet Chauntea, I couldn’t have insulted her more. A creature with dark vision or heat vision would be able to hit her from two miles away. 

“What did I say? I didn’t know that human men could-“

“I’m a woman, Grobnar,” she said, voice getting softer and softer with each word. She didn’t even look particularly mannish. She was just tall, and most of her endowments (which she had. I knew she had them, as we had bathed together more than once, hers were just modest) were hidden under layers of armor. “Female.”

“Oooh.” Grobnar took another long look at her. “Well, that would explain why you had no whiskers. I knew that it was optional on humans, so I didn’t ask. Though I won’t ask about Casavir…”

Casavir looked about to choke again. Grobnar, undeterred, continued to swallow his feet, his mandolin, and just about everything else he had in his possession whole. “I’ve been told that the tallest humans tend to be male, so I was understandably confused. Yet you could have just told me and saved me a great deal of confusion as to why no one cared that Shandra was spending so much time in Yasha’s company. I had wondered if you two were more than friends.”

Now I started to laugh. The situation was clearly absurd, and Yasha was by now entirely purple, but dear gods needed the laugh. Nothing could ever fix what had happened at Ember but knowing that I could laugh at something helped.

Yasha smiled at me, and for the first time, I noticed Casavir watching Yasha watch me, and the softening on his face and stance during the act. 

“Grobnar, let me assure you, if you truly are confused about someone’s gender, you can simply ask,” Sand finally piped up. 

“Ah, okay. What are you?”

I almost paid no attention, and I felt my heart twitch as that moment faded away. I did my best to ignore it. More than a few feelings had surged through me when I had seen that look, and I didn’t want to acknowledge them right now. 

I couldn’t be jealous of Yasha just yet. She had no idea that Casavir thought of her as more than just a friend, or a comrade in arms. She most certainly hadn’t treated him with more consideration than anyone else. She had been so busy babysitting me that I had to wonder if she ever even thought about her own future, and the possibility of an after. She never talked as if she did. I didn’t want a rivalry to come between the fragile friendship that had grown between us. 

Yasha’s smile was sweet enough that I could push back my own bitterness. “I guess that was worth it, if it got you to laugh,” Yasha sighed, shaking her head.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_Shandra looked at the demonness, aghast. “I don’t believe you,” she accused._

_“My dear, what you believe hardly matters. You reached here, didn’t you?” Shandra had tried to ask some questions but they had been deflected, all of her answers being directed towards moving inside the Haven._

_“So I can travel anywhere within this sanctuary? Even rejoin those I came with?” she knew it couldn’t be that easy. There was no way._

_“Eventually, yes. It may require some practice, and you may find travel here erratic- this place has many locks and seals, their power drawn from the demons and devils caged here.” Her eyes narrowed and Shandra had to wonder exactly what she wanted. To sow mischief? Her master’s death? Who knew?_

_“But my friends can’t?”_

_“They will have a… more difficult time, yes. I think they will soon envy you when they discover the power you have here.” Shandra really didn’t really thinks she had any, but hells if that wasn’t going to stop her from getting back to her friends. “Go on then, set your will to it, see what you are capable of.” Her words were coaxing, almost friendly. “Just imagine…”_

_Light enveloped her, and Shandra realized that Hell was a slippery place._

 

To be continued.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an older work of mine, and was originally posted at FF.N under my name Larania Drake. I am going to try posting it here.


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